


Control

by vinyl_octopus



Series: Tumblr prompt fills [10]
Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Developing Relationship, Established Relationship, F/M, Fem!Martin, Flight Deck games, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, friends to lovers sort of, getting caught
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:45:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vinyl_octopus/pseuds/vinyl_octopus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Tumblr prompt fill for this anonymous ask: Martin gets aroused in the flight deck during a flight and can't escape to the bathroom to take care of it. Nothing he thinks of gets rid of it so he has to wank right there next to Douglas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 is the original, with an established relationship.   
> Chapter 2 is an alternate version of the same prompt but with no established relationship and a few more people on the plane...  
> Chapter 3 (!) is an alternate, gender-swapped version with fem!Martin.

Martin squirmed in his seat. Folly. Absolute _folly_ to have engaged on this game. He should have known.

Douglas smirked knowingly from the other side of the flight deck. “Little uncomfortable there, Captain?”

“Shut up, Douglas.”

He shifted again, squeezed the yoke a little tighter. _“I bet I can get you hard just by talking about planes.”_ It had sounded so unlikely. Martin had, foolishly, been quick to retort that since they were _at work_ and actively _flying the plane_ the likelihood of him being distracted enough to get hard was so minimal as to be non-existent. He was, after all, a professional.

He should have put a stop to it as soon as he saw the gleam in Douglas’s eye. But no. Douglas’s bet and so, Douglas said, his choice of punishment.  
  
He hadn’t named it yet.

And Martin could not stop thinking about Douglas’s rumbling, dark voice growling all sorts of perfectly innocent things in such a lewd and filthy tone that Martin had ceased to be flaccid almost as soon as they began.

There was a traitorous twitch from his general...trouser area. He bit his lip against the agony of arousal, the fabric of his underwear simultaneously an irritant and a welcome pressure.

He couldn’t switch off. And damn it all to hell, the one thing that could normally be counted on to distract him, to will away an unwanted erection, was thinking about flying, or planes. And Douglas had neatly subverted it with one game.

He clenched his buttocks in an attempt to make _any other part of his body_ tense and maybe reboot his lower half. The motion just made him think of sex, of Douglas gripping the flesh of his backside as they rode each other.

He gritted his teeth and tried to concentrate on the unending blue sky before them. On not touching himself.

Oh, dear fuck, how he wanted to touch himself. Or some _one_ to touch him. Or some _thing_.

Douglas watched his gaze, then stared pointedly at his lap. “ _Heady_ , isn’t it, being so high. Nothing between us and the sky but this _hard_ , _shining_ , metal—”

“Stop it, Douglas!” Oh, god, he was throbbing. “You’ve already won. Don’t make it worse, for Christ’s sake.”

“My apologies, sir. I shouldn’t gloat. I can see you’re quite thoroughly—”

“Do NOT finish that sentence.” Even the sound of Douglas’s voice was enough now. Despite it being insufferably smug. He shifted his knees a little farther apart to ease the growing tent between his legs. The rub of cotton over the head of his cock as he moved made him catch his breath. “I-i-in fact, just…stop talking.”

Douglas made a humming noise that _ought_ to have sounded like acquiescence but, as they both knew full well, was in _fact_ the noise he made while sucking Martin off.

Martin gave a little moan of his own as he hardened further, shaft straining towards his belly, caught by his clothing. _Fuck._ Ordinarily his trousers were ridiculously ill-fitting, too loose by several sizes. Right now they felt like a wetsuit two sizes too small.

There was a dull ache building in his balls, a thrum of undercurrent to the tingling desperation of arousal. His hands were practically shaking from the effort not to touch. With a sigh, he caved to the inevitable.

“Douglas, you have control.” He fumbled his seatbelt undone and twisted to stand.

“I have control, sir?”

“Yes, I’m just going to—” To nip to the loo to _relieve_ himself. _Jesus_ , he couldn’t help pressing a hand against his crotch.

“No.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. You’re not leaving the flight deck. _I forbid it._ ”

Oh, you bastard.

“Douglas.”

“ _Captain_. I have control.” He certainly did. Douglas looked pointedly at where Martin was desperately gripping himself.

Martin suppressed a whine. The pressure of his hand had helped the ache, but oh _fuck_ he needed friction. He needed it _now_. It took all his strength to keep his hips still. “You’re really not going to let me…?”

“Leave the flight deck? No.” Douglas turned lethargically back to the cockpit window. “But if there’s anything you’d like to take care of from in here…that would be fine.”

Martin ignored the jolt of arousal that sent down his spine. “I’m not going to…”

“No? It’s a cargo flight. There’s no one else here… But of course, you don’t have to. It’s up to you entirely. If you think it’s a problem that will sort itself out…”

It wouldn’t. Martin knew it and Douglas knew it. Martin was far past the point where ignoring it would make it go away.

In a frustrated sulk, Martin threw his jacket onto the jump seat behind them and himself back into his own, letting out a sharp cry as the action briefly caught his most sensitive body part in a bite of tangled fabric.

He slid down in his seat to relieve the pain and pressure; legs falling open, fists tight by his side.

In this position his penis was a hot, stiff bar of flesh pressing insistently against his own hip. He couldn’t stop fidgeting, but that was making it worse, the tight band of his underwear forcing his erection to roll tantalisingly against the hard bone of his pelvis. He stretched a little to straighten out and stop the tease, only to jump with a gasp as the elastic of his underwear strained and popped down under the head of his cock.

He couldn’t help letting out a low moan, tilting his hips, ever so slightly back and forth, as the thicker, much rougher and sturdier fabric of his trouser waistband rubbed against his over sensitised glans.

“Nyuh.” He slid further down in the seat, his shirt rising up, and no doubt wrinkling unforgivably. The worn seatback was a delightful rasp against his back. He writhed a little, luxuriating in the sensation. At some point his hands had moved to his thighs where they were gripping tightly.

Beside him, Douglas’s breath had become markedly heavier, though as Martin turned to look through half-open eyes, his partner was calmly staring straight ahead, both hands on the controls. Only a faint flush betrayed the effect this was having on him.

This, more than anything, was what convinced Martin to give in. As an exercise in humiliation, this would have been perfect; Martin was embarrassed enough at his arousal – getting himself off in the flight deck against his will and against all his strong-held (and much shouted about) beliefs in propriety and professionalism would have been mortifying.

But if they were both aroused by this, if this was a game of _seduction_ , then that painted things in quite a different light.

“Douglas…?”

“Yes, Captain?” Douglas’s voice was satisfyingly husky.

“What was your aim in all this?” Martin finally allowed himself a single, firm stroke, shuddering with the relief and biting back a whimper.

Douglas shifted in his seat, swallowing audibly. “I thought we might find this a little more….fun than competing for the cheese tray.” His voice was ever so slightly breathless, though he still wasn’t looking at Martin.

“I see.” Learning Douglas was so affected had made the confining restrictions of his clothing unbearable. Martin flicked open his button and slowly, carefully drew down his zipper. The noise was loud, even over the drone of the engines. This time he didn’t bother holding back a groan as he pushed his underwear further down and finally, finally, his cock bounced free.

The air was cold against his damp flesh, but his hand was hot and dry as he gripped and slid his fist slowly….up to where he was leaking copiously….then down… then up again, rubbing his thumb smoothly over the top and under the ridge, panting softly.

“Oh, god, Douglas, I’m not going to last long.” He tucked his other hand between his legs, massaging at his balls, pressing occasionally at his perineum.

God knows what he looked like. He’d propped his feet against…something. Not the controls, at least, bringing his knees up and tipping his pelvis so he could thrust his hips a little. He’d slid so far down in his seat that he was almost laying on his back, his neck and shoulders folded against the back rest at what would have been an uncomfortable angle if his attention hadn’t been so entirely focused on the desperate pleasure he was pulling from himself.

“Oh, oh… _ooh._ ” Fuck, he was wanton, writhing against his own hands. His cock was thick and hard and desperate, and he could feel it throbbing against his palm. Against his _palms_ ; he brought one hand up to rub and roll and massageat the head, jerking his shaft frantically with the other hand.

He was lost completely to sensation; all he could hear was his own gasps and the sound of his damp skin slapping and rasping, all he could smell was sex. All he could think was _more_.

Douglas’s own frustrated groan was unexpected, loud, and guttural…and tipped Martin right over the edge. He came suddenly and extravagantly, pulsing with full body spasms and a loud cry before falling limply back, splayed and tangled in the small confines of his seat; one leg flung carelessly over the chair arm, the other stretched under the control panel, arms hanging down – though still carefully angled so as not to drip on anything. His shirt was coated with his release. And he could feel his cheek, if not his hair, was also damp with more than sweat.

He didn’t care. He hadn’t felt this sated or relaxed in a long time. He lolled his head sideways to where Douglas was still concentrating on flying in a straight line. But if the heaving, tense line of his shoulders hadn’t given him away, the hand pushed hard between his own legs would.

“Feeling better, sir?” To Martin’s unconcealed delight, Douglas’s voice was weak, verging on wavering.

“Much better, _thank you_ , Douglas.” He stretched happily. “I’ve never felt this good about losing, before. I hope you enjoyed your prize as much as I did.”

Douglas let out a croak.

“Tell you want, if your no-leaving-the-flight-deck rule is no longer in force, I’ll just go and clean up a bit and then… Douglas, _I’ll_ take control.”

Martin took the pained whine as concession.

 


	2. Control - alternate version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for anonymous, who saw the prompt for Control and suggested the same scenario but "non-established relationship, Carolyn and Arthur are on board so there's more risk."

“And I don't want to see either of you slithering out of that flight deck until we land,” snapped Carolyn.

“Really, Carolyn? Locking us in? I’m fairly sure that's—”

“—against regulations,” finished Martin, flushed with indignation.

“I don't care what it's against. We have a passenger out there who is firmly convinced that if either pilot leaves the controls, we’ll crash. He's paying an awful lot of money for us to cater to his whims, if not to pander to his paranoia, so sit down, shut up, and fly the plane.”

“But what if we need to—”

“What did I just say? This is a time for silence and refl... No, what am I thinking? Just a time for silence. It's a two hour flight, gentlemen. If nature calls, cross your legs. I can't think of any reason you'd need to depart this deck. Unless we have actually crashed. In which case you’re fired.” Carolyn slammed out and left the two pilots looking at each other.

“Golly,” said Douglas.

“What gale force would you call that then?”

“Oooh, an even ten, I should think.”

 

***

 

A filthy word game, Douglas suggested. First one to _react_ loses. Martin had lost before he’d even worked out how to play, and now he was stuck, aching and uncomfortable, while Douglas taunted him even further.

“Just a _touch_ more effort, sir, and you’ll no doubt have caught up.”

Oh hell, Martin shifted in his seat. “Well, if you’d give me a moment…” he retorted peevishly.

Even when he wasn’t saying anything suggestive, Douglas managed to sound like he was undressing you with his voice…Martin shifted again. That train of thought wasn’t helpful either.

“It’s not that _hard_ , Martin,” said Douglas, his tone arousingly self-assured. “But by all means, while you _grope_ around for an answer, I’ll just keep a _grip_ on the controls. I’m sure you’ll get the _thrust_ of this game eventually.”

Fucking. Bloody…

Martin made an effort to think about what he was supposed to be doing. The controls in front of him. The blue sky outside. The rumble of the engines…which vibrated directly against his balls where they were pushing against the seat beneath him.

“Engines,” he managed, a little breathily.

Douglas affected a look of disappointment. “I’m sorry, Martin, but that doesn’t make a _lick_ of sense.”

Oh god. Douglas’s litany of lascivious words that he’d managed to filter into conversation was on a loop in his head. _Need_ , _suck_ , _taste_ , _desperate_ , _thrust_ , _throb_ , _slide_ , _press_ …

You, me, I, if, and, or, the…

Fuck it; pretty much anything Douglas said at this point was getting him hard. Wasn’t exactly the first time, but usually he could hide it. Douglas hadn’t, he’d thought, known what sort of effect he had on Martin. Unthinkingly, he ground his hips back into the seat, clutching at the control column in front of him.

“Do you concede then, Captain?”

Martin bit his lip and turned to face Douglas, who was looking at him archly, one hand not-so-subtly caressing the _shaft_ of the yoke in front of him.

Clearly he _had_ known. If he wasn’t so hard, Martin might have been horrified at the realisation Douglas had probably figured out his little crush. But another stroke of the column and a somehow soothing, if frankly salacious stare suggested Martin might not be the only one who was interested.

Martin released a frustrated groan of utter defeat as a southward blood rush took his trousers from bulging to tented. Douglas’s pleased gaze took in every moment of the anatomical shift.

“I’d say that’s a _comprehensive_ win on my part.” He was as smug and satisfied as the cat who got the…

“ _Unf_.” Martin chanced a press down on his groin in the faint hope that would calm him down. Even through his underpants, the stiff line of his trouser zipper dragged roughly over the tingling head of his cock as he pushed, causing him to harden and thicken even further.

“Oh,” growled Douglas, still observing. “That _does_ look uncomfortable. It’s a shame we’re not allowed out of the flight deck. You’ll just have to will it away, Captain.”

Martin let out a long breath and placed both hands on the armrests. He spread his legs a little to ease the discomfort. His cock was standing embarrassingly straight up in his trousers, despite being trapped in restrictive briefs.

His erection clearly wasn’t going anywhere.

“What flight time have you got, Douglas?” His voice was croaky.

“About 45 minutes, I’d say,” Douglas said calmly. “Think you can last that long?”

Not without…significant discomfort. But the only other option was sneaking out to the toilet, and the thought of being caught and chastised by Carolyn while he had a raging hard-on was _really_ not something he was willing to risk.

He looked down again. Even that threat hadn’t been enough to…temper the situation.

Douglas was watching him out of the corner of his eye.

“Of course, sir. You could always…” He mimed what Martin “could do”.

Martin felt himself go completely red. Despite the blood shortage. “What? No! I can’t do that. I-it’s unprofessional. And what if someone came in?” Despite Carolyn’s threat, the door remained unlocked for Arthur’s convenience.

Neither of them commented on the fact that _Douglas_ would be there.

“It’s up to you, sir. I’m just saying… _I_ …wouldn’t _mind_.”

And that last word was more loaded than anything else Douglas had ever said. Martin hissed as the implication brought his cock straining closer to his body.

 

It took another five minutes of suggestive comments from Douglas and agonised squirming in his seat. A final, heated stare from Douglas, wordless but explicit, finally got Martin to cave in, unzipping his flies and pulling his pants down with a gasp. He was satisfied to see Douglas shift a bit as he released himself from his clothes. Martin sucked his thumb, then swiped it, wet, around the bared head of his cock. The sudden sensation was intense enough to make him shudder and fold over in his seat with a groan, gripping hard at his newly throbbing cock.

“Oh, oh, Douglas. Fuck.”

“Not while I’m flying the plane, sir, but you carry on.” Douglas’s voice was a lot less off-hand than his words, oozing with want that even Martin couldn’t misinterpret.

“ _Hnnngf_.” Martin pulled a fist up himself, erection straining obscenely, flushed dark and desperate. “Aaah. _Oh_.”

Martin clenched one hand on the arm of his seat, the other wrapped tight around his cock as he thrust methodically into the firm vice of his fingers. He couldn’t seem to keep himself quiet. The rhythmic thudding squeak of his seat, alternating with soft grunts, was complimented by Douglas’s own heavy breaths, hissing out in time – and in evident sympathy – with Martin’s panting.

An unexpected knock at the door had Martin jack-knife with panic. He was far too hard, too sensitive, to tuck himself properly away. He let out a stuttered breath as he pulled his jacket closed over his lap, concealing what he could, though the blush and sheen he could feel on his face were likely a dead giveaway.

Arthur clattered in before they had time to answer, and Martin inhaled sharply, leaning over as if in pain, shooting a panicked glance at Douglas as his shirt and tie brushed teasingly over his sensitised flesh. A cold wave of terror washed through his chest, his heart rate escalating against the twin provocations.

“Can I get you anything, chaps?”

“No, thank you, Arthur.” Douglas’s voice veered closer to crisp than friendly.

Arthur was, as ever, oblivious. “Coffee? Tea? Game of Charades?”

Martin let out a pained moan, trying to breathe steadily.

“Gosh, are you all right, Skip?” Arthur finally seemed to notice the captain, bent in half, face hidden between his arms.

“No, Arthur, he isn’t. The captain’s a little under the weather, so—”

“Ooh, that’s no good, Skip. Should I get Mum? Only—”

“NO!” cried Martin, erection failing to wilt even under this threat, all his muscles sore from the tension of the situation. “I’m f-f-ine… _oooOOohhh_ …”Fabric shifted across his lap as he contorted to speak to Arthur, the rub and scrape shooting unwanted bolts of pleasure through his groin.

Douglas’s voice seemed to descend an octave in response to Martin’s aroused plight as he replied to Arthur. “Absolutely not. It’s better if we’re not disturbed. We’ll be landing soon enough. Martin can hang on until then. In fact, I’d suggest you get back into the cabin…There’s likely to be some turbulence shortly as we come—”he swallowed audibly “–in to land, so I’ll be calling for everyone to sit down and fasten their seatbelts.”

“Right-o, Douglas. Hope you feel better, Skip.” Arthur gave Martin a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he left.

Martin sat up gingerly, humiliation and shame roiling in his stomach. He looked down at his lap where his cock still stood tall and proud and aching. A shining string of precome tethered it to his tie and he grimaced at the damp stain, brushing a hand down to sever the link and cup his leaking tip. The touch was enough to distract him from mortification and redirect his focus to his desperate need to come. He rubbed his hand soothingly but insistently at his glans, tipping his head back against the seat in relief, eyes tightly shut.

“ _Christ_.” That was Douglas’s deep, chocolaty tone. He sounded a little tortured.

Martin snapped his eyes open and caught Douglas gazing hungrily at him. His cock gave a mighty twitch under his hand and he whined, quickly bringing his other hand back to grasp and pull firmly at the shaft. Just as his eyes began to roll back, he registered Douglas snapping to attention, the plane performing a quickly corrected dip.

Turbulence, indeed.

His blood was thundering in his ears as he rubbed faster and faster, cock throbbing and twitching under his hands, pleasure thrumming in one, tightly focused area of his body. He dimly registered Douglas’s hoarse voice instructing passengers and cabin crew to take their seats and prepare for landing.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god…” He was rutting his own fist now and it was glorious. Thank heavens the flight deck door was reinforced enough to be fairly soundproof.

Even if it wasn’t locked.

“ _Martin_.” Douglas sounded quite undone, but as Martin tightened his grip and hazily refocused his eyes, hips jerking rhythmically, it was clear Douglas was staring firmly out the front of the plane.

The sound of Martin’s hand was loud. Wet flesh pumping frantically and erratically.

“Oh, _God_ …” Douglas’s voice was ragged.

That was all it took.

“Oh, _unh_ …. _Nnnn_ …GAH!” Martin came hard, folding over his lap, trying to catch his release as he shuddered and trembled through his climax, hips still twitching as he momentarily blacked out and fell back.

He came to sprawled inelegantly in his seat. Pants still open, softening cock caught against the hem of his shirt, hands full of his release.

Douglas was still concentrating on actually flying the plane, descending steeply, but he reached a hand out to Martin, waving a large handkerchief in invitation, and Martin took it gratefully.

“If sir would like to…tidy himself up and fasten his seatbelt, we are about to land.” Douglas’s voice was tight. His shoulders tense, cheeks flushed. He might have been completely absorbed in controlling the plane, but he was shifting in his seat and Martin thought he could see a slight tremor trembling his frame.

“Thank you, Douglas, said Martin, wiping himself clean, then tucking himself and his shirt away, hiding any incriminating evidence under his swiftly buttoned jacket. He popped the soiled hanky in his pocket and resettled himself at the controls. He licked his lips and swallowed down nerves… “After we land, I think we should probably stay in the flight deck so we can review some of today’s _procedures_.” He glanced pointedly at Douglas’s lap. “I think there might be something I can help you with.”

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A THIRD version of Control, for anon who said "I'd love to see the challenge of fem!Martin with the flight desk masturbation."

Douglas flicked the intercom off. “Your turn, Martyn.”

She swallowed thickly. Any ability she might once have had to sing even marginally well had dried up the moment Douglas launched into a teasing round of “Fly Me To The Moon”. Cheesy? Yes. But he certainly had the voice for it.

She clenched the muscles of her inner thighs together, never more grateful for the fact that women were built in such a way as to make arousal virtually invisible to the casual observer. Because dear _god_ ¸ the man might irritate her, but his _voice_ seemed to be directly wired to her knickers.

Martyn cleared her throat, finger hovering above the intercom button before shutting her eyes and stabbing it, husking out an awkward verse of “Come Fly With Me”, before releasing the switch again and staring firmly ahead at the clouds peppering the sky before them.

If he didn’t know something was wrong before, he certainly would now. That had sounded nothing like her usual clear voice and it didn’t sound quite as…jovial as she’d intended. She could feel the heat of a blush on her cheeks. Maybe he’d let it pass.

“Well. Captain. That was unexpected.”

Maybe not.

Douglas didn’t sound mocking. She chanced a quick glance to her right, trying not to make eye contact. A flash of embarrassment was like blood in the water to Douglas. And he didn’t exactly come under “casual observer”. If he noticed she was uncomfortable, let alone anything… _else_ … he’d be all over her.

That thought percolated a little longer than it ought. She blinked hard to clear her brain of unexpectedly pornographic images of Douglas _all over her_ …

Nope nope nope. A delicate shudder shivered down her spine and she wriggled a little; tightening the press of her thighs again and trying not to breathe too heavily.

“I didn’t know you could sing like that.” Douglas had turned away, but his tone was all too… _considering_.

Damn it all to hell. She reached for the water bottle she had stashed by her seat. “D-dry throat,” she explained, taking a swig. “Always makes me sound a little—”

“Sensual?”

“—Hoarse!” As Douglas’s interjection hit her ears, she dropped the bottle, fumbling to catch it before it spilled everywhere.

Douglas cleared his throat. “Hmmm…you sounded like you’d smoked a pack of cigarettes. Very Marilyn-singing-to-the-president. It was…sexy.” _His_ voice was deep, and smooth, oozing over her like thick, warm honey…

Fuck’s sake. She really needed to pour the rest of the bottle over her head to cool down. It’s not like the water would be a problem. Her knickers were already wet. She took a few deep breaths, then turned and met his eyes. They were dark with…something, but his mouth was curled up in a smug smirk.

He was doing it on purpose. Winding her up in _every_ sense. Her stomach swooped – a mix of arousal… and disappointed embarrassment that he could play her so obviously and effortlessly. She felt her blush intensify. “Very funny,” she said flatly.

“Oh, come on, Martyn…”

She shook her head, feeling a little too vulnerable and humiliated given the X-rating her thoughts had taken just moment before. Very unprofessional to think of a colleague in those terms. Especially someone under her.

She clenched her hands around the yoke as she pictured Douglas… _under_ her. A vision of heaving chest and strong arms wrapped around her back. She pictured his hair tousled and unkempt. She’d always wanted to run her fingers through the thick fall of “colour enhanced” locks. She sucked her lower lip, imagining the feel of…

A crackle of static over the radio brought her back and she shook her head free of the images, furious with herself for succumbing _again_. Why was it, even when she was angry he managed to sidle into her fantasies?

Beside her, Douglas took the call from ATC. Looking at the thickening clouds, it was an unsurprising warning of expected turbulence. Martyn made a terse announcement to Carolyn and Arthur to return to their seats and fasten seatbelts.

Carolyn came barrelling in a moment later, in flagrant disregard of safety procedures.

“What’s all this?”

“We’re flying into cloud, Carolyn,” said Douglas, with the world-weary manner he’d probably mastered as a child.

“Why? Can’t you fly around it?”

“Not…really,” put in Martyn as the plane vibrated. “It’s a bit late for that.”

“Well, perhaps if you two had been concentrating instead of messing about on the intercom—”

“It’s just a bit of cloud,” Douglas cut in, reassuringly. “We wouldn’t have gone around anyway. It would have been an extra 45 minutes or so just to avoid a little bit of—” The plane shook again. Carolyn was knocked back a step. “—this.”

Carolyn huffed with irritation but, startlingly, had nothing else to add. She left to go and strap in, but made sure to slam the door on the way out. The force of it knocked the cover off the overhead warning light. Again.

Martyn sighed, anticipating a row once they landed back in Fitton. Or possibly before that if the sky cleared and Carolyn decided to deal with her boredom by unleashing her wrath. Because of course the pilots ought to be able to control the weather…

“I meant it, you know.”

Douglas’s earnest voice derailed her unhappy musing.

“What?” Martyn tightened her grip on the control column as an air pocket caused them to drop a few metres.

Beside her, Douglas fiddled with the controls, adjusting their course to steer around the worst of the cloud.

“Your voice. You should sing like that more often.”

“Drop it, Douglas. You had your fun. We all know you’re the better singer. The cheese tray is all yours on the next flight.”

“No. Martyn, that’s not…” Douglas stilled beside her, staring straight out the window. “I _liked_ it.”

“Right.”

“In rather the same way that _you_ like _my_ voice.”

Hopefully the shudder of the plane as they passed through another cloud was enough to cover her panic.

She swallowed tightly. “Stop it, Douglas. I am your superior officer, and…”

“My _superior_ officer?" As if he'd never heard that phrase before. "Are you trying to _dominate_ me, Captain?”   
  
Surely one of these air pockets would drop them – or him at least – directly into hell because _damn him_ for the mental image _that_ conjured up.

Douglas on all fours; herself in boots and cap, whip in-hand.

“Christ.” She’d been aiming for irritated; missed by a mile and sounded… _wanton_.

Of course Douglas noticed. “ _Martyn_ , I had no idea.”

How? How did he get his voice so deep and rich? She let out a sigh of pure frustration.

“Hmmmm…what else interests you?”

“Don’t.”

Fat chance.

“Is it the idea of putting me in my place that you like, or —”

“The freedom to shut you up would be a good place to start,” Martyn muttered, trying desperately not to picture Douglas tied to her bed...

Well, not _her_ bed. The pathetic single mattress in her attic wouldn’t be able to handle the strenuous activities she had in mind, and there was nowhere to tie anything. It would have to be in a hotel. One of those nice king-sized beds with a headboard…She could use her knickers to gag him. Clean ones, of course, no need to be unhygienic. Douglas would look lovely, hands caught by her tie on one hand and his on…

Goddamn it, she’d wandered again. She parted her legs a smidge, lest the urge to squeeze _properly_ , _rhythmically_ became too much.

“I’d let you.” Douglas was nonchalant as they eased out of the grey puffs into blue sky once more. A short reprieve before being engulfed by the next bank of clouds.

“I… What?”

“I’d let you. Martyn. Anything you want.”

Her breath shuddered out of her. Surely she hadn’t said any of that out loud? She looked over at her first officer. He was in shirtsleeves at the moment, and at some point he’d rolled them up. She didn’t know if it was deliberate, but she had trouble taking her eyes off his forearms as they flexed with the movement of the controls. Her nipples stiffed and rubbed against the cups of her bra as she imagined those arms flexing for quite a different reason.

He saw her looking. “Anything at all,” he growled, and the sound went straight to her clitoris.

She suppressed a squeak as she adjusted a dial unnecessarily – partly as a distraction and partly as an excuse to swipe an arm tantalisingly against her own breast. She pressed her legs together again and wished she could touch herself as the damp fabric of her underwear rubbed against her sensitive flesh.

“Fucking hell, Martyn.” Apparently she hadn’t been as subtle as she thought. She always was rubbish at poker; right now she had the sense Douglas had read every filthy thought straight off her face.

He was looking decidedly flushed and uncomfortable. There was an obvious bulge in his lap and the sight sent a strike of lust and arousal straight to her core. She was throbbing; aching for the want of touch. Douglas’s heavy breaths made her realise she was nearly panting. She couldn’t look away from him, the sound of their shared gasps turning her on so sharply and suddenly that her own hand was pushing between her legs before she could even think about it.

God, that felt _good_. A quiet moan from Douglas brought her back down to earth. Well, to Gerti. So, in fact, still rather a long way up in the air.

“Please don’t stop on my account, Captain.” Douglas sounded breathless. “I have control…though you might want to lock the door…”

She barely needed to stand to reach and engage the lock on the door behind them. Even that was enough to discover her legs were shaking from arousal.

She sat back down, uncertain. Darted a look at Douglas, who was staring determinedly at the clouds before them, trousers impressively distorted.

It was all she needed to see, and she gave herself up to the fantasy of straddling Douglas, of rubbing herself up against that intriguing bulge. Not on the flight deck, of course…or at least, not while they were flying. That would be even more dangerous and unprofessional than…well - she writhed luxuriously against her hand - than _this_.

It wasn’t enough. The rub of the hard seam of her trousers was good but it wasn’t what she needed. Before she could question herself, she’d undone her belt and flies and slipped one hand into the damp warmth of her knickers. Her fingers slid delightfully along her slippery folds and she contorted in her seat to spread her legs wide so she could reach to slide two fingers inside herself.

The loud, wet, rhythmic squelching was a little off-putting, but if the pained groan was anything to go by, Douglas was enjoying it and fuck if it didn’t feel amazing.

If a thing was worth doing, it was worth doing properly, Martyn decided. Still rubbing, she used her other hand to flip her tie over her shoulder, carefully unbuttoning her shirt and caressing her own breast. She used her thumb to massage her nipple to full hardness, then yanked the cup down so she could roll and cup the flesh skin to skin.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” she couldn’t help crying out a little with every breath as she thrust her fingers frantically in and out, angling her hips and arm so she could rub at her swollen clitoris at the same time. She had her head thrown back against the seat and the low bun kept getting caught as she tossed her head.

She felt her orgasm approach from her toes and she sped her hand up as if to catch it, collapsing in wave after wave of pleasure that left her shaking and tangled and gasping in her chair.

It took her a moment to find the wherewithal to pull her hand back out of her underwear and flip her bra back into place. She felt loose-limbed and relaxed and completely incapable of reigning in the dopey grin she knew was draped over her face. She pulled the neat pack of tissues from her pocket to clean up a little before putting her clothes back to rights. Her hair had pulled completely free during her exertions, and hung in ginger waves around her face. She glanced across at Douglas, who was gazing at her, flushed and…hungry. He looked moments away from either coming himself… or dragging her into his distended lap. This time, the swoop of her stomach was unaccompanied by anything but lust and...something more important.

“Have dinner with me.” Now he was the one with the hoarse voice. “It doesn’t have to… Have dinner with me.”

She blinked, trying to determine if he was serious or just horny.

“Dinner?” She concentrated on pulling her hair back into a bun once more.

“Please.”

Douglas Richardson saying please. She looked at his lap. To her surprise he shifted with…was that embarrassment? Shifted his leg to belatedly hide his condition. “Just dinner,” he said, in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring manner.

“All right. When?”

“We’re landing in ten minutes, Captain.”

“So after Carolyn has yelled at us, then?”

He grinned.

“And you’ll stay to help with the paperwork?”

“Sod the paperwork.”

She raised an eyebrow. He sighed.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” she promised, angling her gaze towards his trousers.

“Fine.” But Douglas was smiling, and for once he didn’t sound at _all_ smug and world-weary.


End file.
